


Rhythm of the Night

by sterlingstars



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Nerds in Love, lance is in denial about just how gay for keith he is, late night fights bring out the best in us apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 13:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7389070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterlingstars/pseuds/sterlingstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Lance can't sleep. Homesickness gets to be too much, and his solution is to try to beat the problem out. Surprise, surprise, Keith has similar ideas about beating his nighttime troubles, and some late-night sparring and chat sessions lead to something good enough to ease just about any ache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rhythm of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Voltron has entered my life and completely taken over. Send help. I'm dying.

He dreams of the beach.

Of course he does; it's home, and it's been far too long since he's been there, toes in the sand, salt on the air and making his hair dry in waves that match the ocean that laps at his feet. Lance dreams of the beach, and the salt and smells and breeze, and sometimes, it really, really fucks with him.

Like tonight. 

He wakes up with a start, and is surprised to find tears on his cheeks, his eyes wet and prickling. Lance sits up in bed and peels his eyemask off, rubbing at his eyes with a slow hand, breath shaky. For a moment, he convinces himself that he can still smell the water on the air in the room, and his breath hitches with a quiet, involuntary sob. The pain of missing home is too much, and in this moment, he feels his chest ache with it. He misses Mama and his abuelita and his sisters, and he misses the sounds of everyone running around the house, the smell of his mama and abuelita's cooking, the soft way Mama always calls him _mijo_. 

Lance wants nothing more than to flop back onto the bed, roll over, and pretend he's not feeling this, but he can't shake it, so with a quiet sigh, he gets up. The floor is cool beneath his feet, and it shakes some of the sleep from him. He wearily pulls on some comfortable clothes- sweatpants, an old shirt, socks and his sneakers- and makes his way to the training deck. He's never been one to get out his feelings through physicality, but right now he really just wants to punch out all of this sadness he's feeling. He figures a round or two with the gladiator ought to do him some good and send him into a dreamless sleep fed off of exhaustion.

Bayard in hand, he yawns as he makes his way to the training deck, feet quiet on the smooth metal of the floor. When he opens the door, however, instead of finding it dark and silent, he finds all the lights on, and his eyes widen as a gladiator darts past him, followed by none other than Keith. 

Of course. He would be having a training session at an ungodly hour. Does this guy _ever_ rest? Lance decides that question isn't important enough to mull over the answer to, though he has a sneaking suspicion that the answer is no, Keith doesn't rest. 

He walks into the room, the doors closing behind him, and only then does Keith notice he's come in. he dispatches the gladiator with a swipe of his sword, and it retracts into his bayard as he turns to face Lance in full, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. He looks worn out, sweaty and flushed, a few fresh bruises on his pale skin from being knocked around by the gladiator. Wiping his forehead, he walks a little closer, still breathing heavily. 

“Dude, what the hell are you doing here? It's pretty late.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Lance says. He crosses his arms. “A little late for a full training session, don't you think?”

“Like you weren't about to do the same thing,” Keith says with a raised eyebrow. He puts a hand on his hip, eyes narrowing slightly. “Which is... very not like you, by the way.”

“How would you know? What if I do this all the time?” Lance jabs.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Okay, Mr. I Like To Sleep In Til Noon. I don't buy that. So. What brings this on?”

Lance sighs and shoves his free hand in his pocket. “Needed to blow off some steam. Rough night.”

Keith's face softens a little, and he nods. “Well, I get that. Wanna... wanna go a round or two with me? Help each other out a little?”

Lance is surprised by the offer, and feels his face show this without his permission. He wasn't expecting this, since it's... pretty kind, actually. But he's tired and drained from his sadness, and he can't find the energy or even the want to be an asshole to Keith right now, so he finds himself nodding, blushing ever so slightly.

“Uh, sure.”

Keith nods, and Lance follows him into the center of the room. They get into position, bayards drawn, and Lance takes a deep breath. No words go between them as they kick off, the only sounds their feet pounding the floor and their weapons clashing, their breath loud and ragged, punctuated by grunts and yells as they throw themselves at each other. It's easy for Lance's focus to fall away from his sadness, the ache of it slipping out of his chest as he begins to focus instead on the movements of his feet, the weight of his gun in his hands, the timing of his movements and where he strikes.

It's been difficult to get into the swing of combat, and he still falters a lot, but it's easier now than it was in the beginning. He's more sure of himself, more skilled and fluid, and deflects and lands more hits than he takes. He's getting better, and he takes pride in it. In fact, now, he's actually able to spar with Keith like this without getting his ass handed to him too badly. 

They fall into it easily, and Lance finds himself completely focused on the fight. They call it a draw for the first round, and in the second, they bring out the gladiator on a low level and hit it together. This fight passes more quickly, but even so, once they're finished they're both breathing heavily and sweating, faces flushed and muscles warm with exertion. They wipe their faces with their shirts and take a moment to breathe, bayards put into their pockets and the gladiator put away.

“Kitchen run?” Lance asks.

Keith nods. They make their way out of the training deck and into the kitchen. The castle is quiet in a gentle way, everything around them sleeping as they walk through the halls. The lights in the kitchen silently flick on as they walk in. Keith settles heavily onto a bench at one of the little tables stationed throughout the room, and Lance gets them both water and a bowl of fruit to go between them. Keith makes a little noise in his throat as he drains half of his water, and Lance quietly laughs. (And then does the same.)

The alien berries are good, but Lance finds himself missing fruit from home, that he's familiar with. Plantains and pineapple and fresh mango, the good and sticky stuff that leaves the scent on your skin and is the perfect way to start off a morning. He closes his eyes for a moment, and sighs.

“My Mama, she loves fruit,” Lance finds himself saying. “Always keeps it in the house. I knew how to properly cut a pineapple by the time I was five. This stuff doesn't compare to that.” He sighs a little. “There's always something like that in the fridge, or on the counter.”

He rolls a berry between his fingers before popping it into his mouth. Keith is just watching him, quiet.

“That's uh... well, that's just one of the things I miss about home.” His voice is quiet, hushed. “That's why I was in the training deck, by the way. I can't... I can't handle it sometimes, the missing. Guess that makes me a baby or whatever- I know we're supposed to be these heroes- but I just. I really miss home.” He looks at the table. “It keeps me up sometimes. I figured going to the deck was a good way to... make it go away for a while, I guess. Find something else to focus on instead of just feeling sorry for myself.”

Keith is looking at him, and his face is open, soft. Lance doesn't think he's ever seen him look so... open. Relaxed. Keith is always on edge, poised like he's ready to spring, as if the wrong word or touch or move could catapult him into action, or maybe into shattering. He looks so stiff and tense sometimes that Lance feels like if he touches him, he'll shatter into a million pieces, right on the floor. He wonders, a lot, what goes on in his head.

In the beginning, he couldn't see past his stupid rivalry. It was a dumb thing, he thinks now, to be so thoroughly obsessed over, but he's always been the competitive type. He likes a challenge, and Keith presented the perfect one for him to rise to. It was easy bait, and it worked. But now, it's not about that. It hasn't been for a while now, he realizes. And especially in this moment, when he's feeling raw and exhausted, he doesn't have the patience to keep up the pretense. 

“I don't uh... I don't normally fight away my bad feelings, but... it just seemed to do the trick tonight, so.”

Lance looks down at the table again, and sighs. They finish their water and quietly make their way to bed. Lance falls asleep quickly, but not before thinking a little about Keith before he does.

+

Somehow, this becomes a thing. It doesn't happen every day; but on the nights when the dreams are too much and his ache is too overwhelming, Lance makes his way to the training deck to blow it off. Keith is always there, as sure as the gladiator or the lights flickering on. He's always already worked up a sweat, and Lance can never tell how long he's been there, but it's obvious it's been at least an hour, most likely more. Lance doesn't ask and Keith doesn't press either. They just get into fighting form and go, not really saying anything.

They always go to the kitchen afterwards. They sit, and they don't talk much, but it's... nice, actually. Lance feels relaxed, and like he's on even footing with Keith for once. They don't really have to try to one-up each other or fly off at the mouth, and Lance actually finds relief in it. These nights leave him feeling tender, anyway, and he can't bring himself to be an ass.

It's easy to be with Keith this way, neither of them pressuring the other, just working out their demons through sweat and exercise. It's simple, and a little fun, even. They're both more relaxed, and when Lance leaves to go back to bed, he feels like a weight has been taken off of his shoulders. 

Their late-night talks in the kitchen after their sessions are a little bit of therapy. Lance finds himself talking a lot more openly, and Keith quietly listens. He doesn't ever really say too much back, but that's okay, really. It's nice that someone is just listening. When he does talk, he's gentle and actually encouraging, which is surprising in a lot of ways but actually really helps Lance out. 

“You're uh... actually really good at this whole listening thing,” Lance says one night. He looks over at Keith, who looks a little thrown off by the compliment.

“Well, I'm not so good at the talking part, so.”

Lance gives a small smile. “Well that's alright. Never took you for the chatty type, anyway. More like the silent, brooding type. Which you definitely fit the bill for.”

Keith narrows his eyes. “I don't _brood_.”

He cuts him a look, and Lance feels his heart skip a little as a blush spreads across Keith's cheeks. He mentally kicks himself, because his immediate thought is “wow, he looks really cute like that.” And, well, Keith is not cute. Right? Right. He absolutely isn't. There is no way Keith is cute- not with that ridiculous mullet, or those expressive eyes, or that sly mouth, or-

Oh, God. Oh God in heaven, Lance is fucked.

He swallows and looks away, taking a large drink of his water to try and settle himself. He keeps catching himself having passing thoughts like this, and they've increased since he's been having these late-night talking and sparring sessions with Keith. This concerns him, because even though they've slowed on their mutual shit-talking and what one could probably call dislike, Lance still has a reputation to maintain, and he can under no circumstances get a crush on the guy who's supposed to be his competition. He consoles himself with the thought that whatever this little thing is will probably fizzle and die before it can grow into anything substantial- and besides, Keith would probably never go for him, even if Lance did have any feelings for him outside the realm of friendship and competitive banter. Right?

“You alright over there? You got kind of quiet,” Keith says suddenly, pulling Lance out of his mini crisis.

He looks back over at him and nods quickly. “Oh, yeah. Just tired, is all.”

Keith nods. “Me too, actually. Ready to call it in?”

“Yeah,” Lance says. “Yeah, I think it's time.”

They head out of the kitchen and down the hall to the cabins, stretching and walking a little slow for their fatigue. Lance feels the tiredness pulling at his body, his muscles warm and lax after all the activity of the sparring, but instead of thinking about the bed that's waiting for him, he keeps stealing glances at Keith, who's walking next to him. He looks calm, eyes straight ahead and posture relaxed for once. It's a good look on him, Lance thinks, and then kicks himself mentally again for that thought.

Keith gives him a wave as they hit Lance's room, and his face is open, relaxed. Lance's heart does a weird thing at the sight. He orders it to stop, but it doesn't listen, because his body is an asshole. 

“Sleep tight,” Keith says, and then he turns and goes off down the hall towards his room. 

It's only a few doors down from Lance's room but he feels like he stands there for half an hour watching Keith as he goes before he makes it into his own door, slipping inside. Keith's door closes and Lance slides into his own room, bracing his back against the door and taking a few deep breaths. 

He slowly gets into his pajamas and settles into bed, mind turning over his saved images of Keith. 

It takes him a little longer than usual to fall asleep that night, and he finds himself wondering if Keith is experiencing the same problem.

+

There's an ease between them now that wasn't there before, and Lance knows it's because of the time they spend together at night, but he doesn't want to think about the full impact it's having on him. He doesn't want to think about how his heart does weird things when Keith laughs, or how his skin tingles and his hands get clammy whenever Keith touches him while sparring. Because that would mean admitting to himself that something is happening, when nothing should be happening at all.

But even the team notices that there's a smoothness to them now, that they're working better together and not bickering as much. 

“You and Keith are getting along a lot better,” Shiro says one afternoon. 

They're sitting in the lounge after a day of training. Everything went smoothly- smoother than usual, really- and everyone is in good spirits. Lance and Shiro are the first out of the showers, and Lance is sprawled over one of the sofas in the main lounge, trying to decide if he should nap here or try to make it to his room. He looks up as Shiro comes through, sitting next to him. He has a slight smile on his face, and Lance swallows.

“Well, you can only be rivals with one of your teammates for so long, I guess,” Lance says, keeping his voice casual. 

“I was hoping something like that would happen,” Shiro says, his voice warm. “I'm proud of you guys. It shows a lot of maturity. It's good for us. I'm glad you guys are getting along.”

“Me too,” Lance says quietly.

Shiro beams at him, and he wipes sweaty palms on his jeans.

+

“Excellent shot!” Keith hollers as the gladiator falls, arm buzzing from where Lance shot it.

Lance tosses a grin over his shoulder, and Keith dives in for the kill shot, sword flashing in the bright lights of the training deck, hair streaming behind him. He looses a yell as he slashes the blade across the robot's chest, and it shuts down with a soft mechanical noise before being swallowed up by the floor. Keith slides to halt, panting and grinning, his eyes bright, and Lance whoops, bayard retracting as he pumps his free fist into the air. 

He jogs over to where Keith is standing, wiping sweat off his brow and pushing hair out of his eyes, and smiles, feeling invincible. 

“Dude, that was perfection,” Lance says excitedly. “That gladiator didn't stand a fucking chance!”

Keith grins, and his whole face lights up with it. Lance feels his heart go into double-time, and he swallows. He's glowing with their little victory, his eyes bright and cheeks flushed with exertion and pride, and he looks... he looks dazzling, in his own right. Lance finds himself sweating a little harder, and his heart is pounding. He's aching with the force of how badly he wants to reach out and touch Keith, to grab him by the collar and put their mouths together. 

Somehow, he keeps his hands to himself as they make their way to the kitchen. They grab their water and fruit, as is routine, and Lance finds himself filled with nervous energy as they sit down. They're quiet for a moment, catching their breath and drinking some water, and Lance feels like he's about to explode. 

“That was really great,” Lance finally says after a moment. “You were killer out there, man.”

Keith smiles again, and Lance feels like he's going to fall onto the floor. “You weren't too bad yourself,” he says with a grin. “You're getting a lot better with handling your weapon. I'm kind of impressed, actually.”

Lance feels his face heat up with a blush, powerless to stop it.

“Thanks,” he says, and his voice comes out in a slight squeak. He wants to die.

“I uh...” Keith looks down at the table, and Lance's heart kicks up as he wonders where this is going. “I'm actually really glad that we do this,” he says quietly. “It really helps me out. So. Thanks for sticking with me. I know you don't like me very much, but... we make a pretty good team.”

Keith looks up at him, his eyes soft, a tiny smile on his face, and Lance feels like his heart is going to crawl out of his throat and onto the table. He looks so soft, and wary, like he's waiting for Lance to make a terrible joke and kill it, but Lance has never wanted to make a joke less in his entire life. He swallows, a lump suddenly in his throat, and nods slowly. His face feels hot.

“I never actually hated you or anything,” Lance says softly.

“You- you didn't?”

He shakes his head. “I...” He grips the edge of the table and sighs. “Honestly? I was jealous of you for a long time. You were... you were everything I wanted to be. You were smart, and respected, and you were the best pilot in our class. A fighter pilot, no less. You had everything I wanted, and I just... the only way I knew how to deal with it, I guess, was to just... pretend I hated you. It made it easier. If I could pretend you weren't perfect and I could have a reason to hate you, I could feel less bad about how shitty I was compared to you.”

A beat of silence. Then: “You think I'm perfect?”

Keith says this incredulously, and when Lance gets the courage to look up at him, his eyes are wide, a deep flush on his cheeks. He looks utterly startled, lips forming a little o as he stares at Lance, seemingly at a loss for words. Lance blushes deeply and looks at his shoes, and this has gotta be what having a heart attack feels like, cause his chest feels like it's going to explode. 

“I... well... yeah,” he mumbles, embarrassed. “No one's a better pilot than you. You just... you're a natural. You like, never get anything wrong.”

“You... I... Uh.” Keith's face is red, and at this point Lance can't tell which of them is more embarrassed right now. “I'm not perfect,” he says, chuckling nervously. “I got kicked out of the garrison, remember? That's hardly perfect. A-and besides, you're actually... you're a really good pilot, Lance. Like, really good. It's pretty obvious why you were right in line behind me.”

Lance feels like h's going to die. “I... you mean that?”

“Yeah!” Keith says, nodding. “I do. I never really said it, cause you were kind of an ass to me, but, uh, I think you're really good. And I'm actually really happy that we get to fly together.”

“ _Dios mío_ ,” Lance whispers. “I. Um. Listen. I'm going to kiss you. Can I do that?”

Keith's eyes widen. “I... y-yes,” he breathes. “Please. Yes.”

Lance doesn't waste any time. He leans forward and takes Keith's face in his hands, and before he can think too much about this and get scared, he goes in, pressing their mouths together. Keith's mouth is soft and pliant in his surprise, and they both let out soft, startled noises as they kiss. Keith breathes out a ragged breath through his noses, and his hands go to Lance's hips and stay there, resting lightly but not going anywhere. 

It doesn't last for very long, but that hardly even matters. They pull apart after a moment and they're both wide-eyed, flushed and a little breathless. Lance's mouth tingles.

Lance experimentally rubs a thumb across Keith's cheekbone, and Keith lets out a startled noise, but very slightly pushes into the contact.

“I uh, I've wanted to do that for a while,” Lance whispers.

“Can we, um,” Keith swallows. “Can we do it again?”

Lance doesn't even answer- just goes in for another kiss, Keith meeting him enthusiastically in the middle. This one is a little more heated, and lasts longer. Keith's lips part and Lance lets his tongue swipe his bottom lip, both of them shuddering at the sensation. He feels warm all over, his face hot, Keith's cheeks warm under his palms. They break away again, foreheads touching, and Keith's eyes drift closed. Lance just looks at him- his face is soft and flushed, relaxed. He slowly opens his eyes, and they're bright. Lance shudders a little.

“Ya know, I never thought something good would ever come out of insomnia,” Keith says softly. “But my life has been one surprise after another, lately. I can't predict shit out here.”

Lance continues to rub his thumb over Keith's cheek, humming softly. “Yeah. I didn't think... well. I just didn't-”

“I know,” Keith says. “Me, too.”

Lance leans in and kisses him again, soft. It's quick and gentle, and Keith is smiling when they break apart. 

“Call it a night?” Lance whispers.

Keith nods. They get up and walk to their rooms, hands lightly intertwined. Keith turns to go once they reach Lance's room, but he stops him, shaking his head. Keith's eyes widen in surprise, and Lance just gently pulls him inside. They share a kiss against the door, warm and lingering, and Lance tosses Keith an extra pair of pajamas, changing into his own. He slides onto the bed and holds his arms out, and then feels a little embarrassed. 

“I... I sleep better, after our nights,” he says sheepishly, fingers twisting his blanket. “Figured having you here when I sleep would work a lot better.”

Keith's smile is bright and filled with something tender, and Lance feels his embarrassment fade. Keith changes and slides into the bed in front of Lance. They lie facing each other, hands clasped.

They both get the best night's sleep they've had in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/transmurdock) to scream about boyfriends in space


End file.
